


Veritas

by iamsiriuslyriddikulus



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsiriuslyriddikulus/pseuds/iamsiriuslyriddikulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s become habit for Connor to wind up in Oliver’s bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veritas

"That’s the sixth time you’ve come over for…  _dinner_ ,” Oliver says, pressing a kiss to Connor’s jaw.

"Shame we always forget about it. Cold fried rice just isn’t any good." He glances over at the food on the floor, still in its plastic bag and boxes, but his grin shows no regret. He shifts closer, snuggles into Oliver’s neck, and closes his eyes.

Oliver reaches out, running his fingers through his hair, and Connor smiles. The bed smells like sweat and like their colognes. It’s oddly familiar considering they haven’t actually been done this too many times. Connor’s stomach growls, but he ignores it. There is nothing that will make him get up out of this bed.

"You told me you don’t do boyfriends."

Or almost nothing. Connor instinctively sits up and spins around, letting his legs dangle over the bed.

"I’m hungry," he just says, and he pads across the room to grab the bag. "Can I just reheat this in your microwave?"

"Sure, but you’re not answering my question."

"I didn’t hear a question." He doesn’t want to think about it. And he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say anyway. Saying that he is just there for work would shut Oliver out of his life. He needs him for work and for —

No. Just work.

He runs a hand through his hair and grabs the bag. As the bed creaks, he grits his teeth. The last thing he wants is to be interrogated. Oliver follows him into the kitchen and sets his hands on his shoulders. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I’m happy even if you just want to have dinner or need a favor.”

What he says is somehow so much worse than anything else he could say, and when he looks over his shoulder, Oliver nudges his glasses up his nose and smiles. Connor can see the hurt in his eyes, and he clears his throat as he pops open the box and dumps the fried rice in a bowl.

Oliver steps back, and Connor can’t help but stare for a moment. He’s gorgeous, even in the shitty, yellow lights of his kitchen. He bites his lower lip and waits, but Connor doesn’t know what to say. It’s hard to find words, so he chooses to just ignore them instead. He turns to the microwave and sets it for forty-five seconds before pulling out the drawer and reaching for a spoon.

"Can I have some?"

Connor nods. “Yeah. Sure.” He hates the tension. When Oliver reaches for the box of rice, he moves forward, pressing himself flush against Oliver. They’re not wearing any clothes, and his hands press down his side, along the v-shape of his hips. When he leans forward, he bites at the spot where Oliver’s neck and shoulder meet before sucking. His tongue runs over the skin before he pulls back and looks at the purple-red mark that’s already formed.

The microwave beeps, and nothing else is heard in the silence of the kitchen other than the buzzing of the lights and Oliver’s heavy breathing. When he turns around, his hands fist Connor’s hair. His hand slips down to Oliver’s ass as he presses their hips together. Oliver bites his lip. His nails rake down Oliver’s back.

The microwave beeps again, but their food continues to go untouched.


End file.
